


no fun at parties

by illycrium



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gang Rape, Gangbang, Sexual Slavery, boofing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illycrium/pseuds/illycrium
Summary: a drabble i wrote in 2017an au where Styx is a sex slave at a brothel
Kudos: 13





	no fun at parties

The music pounds Styx's sensitive ears before he's even through the doorway, expression twisted into a frown as the door opens and he's pushed inside. 

It's red, the lights dim and crimson. Eerie as it seems to Styx, the human partiers don't seem to notice. 

A handful are gathered around the glass coffee table by the couch, dollar bills rolled up as they noisily snort up lines of powder. Styx shifts uncomfortably when one girl howls in delight, and another goes lax on the floor when her friend pushes the plunger of the needle.

These parties aren't any fun for him.

He shuffles forward, dressed in a pair of tight black panties. His eyes fall to the naked mutant sprawled across the table. Unconscious, choking on their own vomit. One partier shoves the mutant off the table, and he tumbles to the floor and lets out a rattle that shakes Styx to the core. 

Hands eagerly grapple for the new toy, pinching and pulling at the rings on his nipples. A fingernail scratches at the crystal in his sternum, and Styx jerks back with a sharp cry of pain. 

For his trouble, he gets a firm punch to the gut. He doubles over and falls to his knees willingly, waiting for the next blows.

A boot finds his side, steel-toed leather bruising his hip. A cry sputters past his lips, and he rolls to his side and grits his teeth. 

Someone yanks on his hair, and he tips his head upwards. Something presses to his lips--he's not sure what, but his lips part without a thought, and alcohol pours inside.

Obediently, he swallows. And swallows. Until the bottle is empty, tossed aside. A pop as glass shattered, and the party-goers shrieked in delight. 

His head swimming, Styx is pulled up onto his knees. His panties are torn by clumsy hands, and sticky fingers find their way inside his core. 

He shuts his eyes tight and releases a ragged breath, wincing when the fingers curl and twist. Someone spits, and he's slick and ready for the blunt press of a prick. 

The thrust sends him forward an inch, and he arches and yowls in pain. The bend of his back is attractive, so the man behind him takes hold of his dark hair and grips so he is stuck in that position. 

The music makes his heart thump erratically to the beat, and he jolts when alcohol pours along his back and settles in the divots between thick muscle and kelated scar tissue. 

A girl stumbles over, laps at his olive skin eagerly and sucks the little puddles of vodka between her chapped lips. In thanks, she uses his hip to burn her cigarette out on. 

He's conscious and aware, and he weeps openly when fingers part his ass cheeks and the tip of a bottle shoves inside. He arches, sobbing out unintelligible phrases and curses as the booze fills him, spills inside endlessly. 

Someone wraps rubber around his bicep and pushes a needle into his arm. He wants to fight it, but the relief is instantaneous.

It doesn't last. An hour passes of muffled music and laughter, of his sight blurred and mucky. His body runs through the drug fast, and when the hour passes, he becomes vividly aware of the pain he's in.

He screams, but it's drowned out by the blaring music and the howling of the woman riding his cock. She's too tight, and too rough, and she digs her painted nails into his tits and claws at him like he's a scratching post.

He looks down and spots lines of red all along his torso. Blood pools in his bellybutton. 

He turns to vomit, hurling all over the red carpet. It doesn't matter. It'll all be cleaned up in the morning. 

He makes eye contact with the other mutant. Almost. Their eyes are open but empty, stomach contents dried and caked around their parted lips. They are absolutely still, not even the tell-tale sign of an expanding chest giving away any semblance of living.

Styx vomits again. 

For another four hours, he is horribly aware. Moving is nearly impossible, and he has to be yanked to fit into a position. 

He's laid across the coffee table, cocaine sticking to his sweaty back. Someone's kneeling between his open legs, rubbing a thumb at his bloody cunt. He jerks at the contact and whimpers. 

Something presses to his cunt. It's fucking huge. Styx looks down in alarm to see a fat dildo being held to his cunt. There's no way it'll fit. 

The man holding the fake cock pushes hard. Styx writhes and attempts to sit up, but hands grip him and pull him back down. 

He sobs loudly, making eye contact with a girl that's grinning wide, hands down her jeans. His pitiful expression only seems to turn her on more, and she fingers herself vigorously. 

Nauseous, Styx closes his eyes. 

The tip shoves in. It took a lot of strength. Styx feels himself tear, felt blood /gush/ from his entrance to the table. He lets out a horrible scream, tears rolling down his cheeks and burning the cuts along his jaw and lips. 

"Stop, s-sTOP--" He wails, desperate. The crowd shrieks with laughter and the dildo is shoved in further. "No, NO, no no nononono--" it's an endless mantra, completely useless.

He can see his stomach bulge with the entirety of the dildo inside of him. There's a lot of blood. He just wants to die. 

The dildo pulls out slightly, then shoves back in. 

The force of the thrust throws Styx into unconsciousness. 

He wakes in the morning. He's sore, in absolute agony. 

He's in the medical ward. Hooked up to an IV feeding him fluids and whatever other shit is keeping him from gathering up enough energy to lift his arm and rip the IV out. He'd tried once, and nearly bled to death. Unfortunately, nurses had reached him before he could. 

He sees his master, strolling inside casually. His hands in the pockets of his slacks, toothpick shifting between his lips. 

"G'morning." he grunts out when he notices Styx is awake. "Y'got a fractured pelvis." that explains the pain. "Y'll be out of commission for a week or so." he shrugs. "'dunno. You should heal up quick. Y'always do." 

Styx just looks at him. He's tired. 

His master pauses and waits. 

Styx licks his lips, and hoarsely says, "Thank you, master." 

He's not sure what he's thankful for, but his master smiles anyways.


End file.
